


Temperature Regulation

by mostladylikeladythateverladied



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Injury, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 13:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15558423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostladylikeladythateverladied/pseuds/mostladylikeladythateverladied
Summary: Bakura totals Malik's motorcycle and everything goes cold.





	Temperature Regulation

**Author's Note:**

> Ninjam117 over on the Alchemy of Thiefshipping discord is entirely to blame for this.

This was a phone call Bakura did not want to make.

He didn’t have a choice, though. His ride home was lying in pieces on the asphalt. At least the police were letting him go after taking his statement. Brushes with law enforcement always put Bakura on edge, even though he hadn’t stolen anything in the year since he’d returned to life.

Because of Malik. He wanted a normal life after a thoroughly abnormal decade and a half. Bakura didn’t want to fuck that up for him.

Malik. He was going to be furious.

Bakura’s fingers trembled as he selected Malik’s name on his phone. Damn it, he could take down a monarchy without blinking, but calling his boyfriend to admit he’d screwed up scared him half to death.

“You’re late,” Malik said as a greeting.

“I _know_ ,” Bakura snapped back harsher than he’d meant to.

“Kaiba keep you at the office?” Malik was unphased by Bakura’s tone. “And on date night, too. You might not cum tonight.”

Malik’s casual, filthy insinuations made Bakura’s skin tingle. He wanted, _so badly_ , to tease back with a quip about Malik having no say in whether Bakura came or not (even though he absolutely did) but he couldn’t do that.

“I need you to come pick me up. In the car.”

Bakura could almost hear the gears turning in Malik’s head. Bakura left for work on Malik’s motorcycle. But he couldn’t get home on it. Malik sucked in a breath and the air around Bakura chilled when it all clicked into place.

“What did you do to my bike?” he asked carefully.

Like ripping off a bandage, Bakura said, “It’s totaled. I got into an accident.”

Silence fell. Malik loved the sound of his own voice and it was completely _wrong_ for a hush to echo between them.

“Find a different ride home. I don’t want to see your face right now.”

And he hung up.

Bakura stared at his phone dumbly. He’d expected anger, he’d expected yelling, he’d expected confrontation. He didn’t expect to be shut down and shut out. That wasn’t…what they _did_. Malik wasn’t cold, he was an ever-burning inferno. And Bakura’s admission froze that fire solid.

Most confrontation between them wasn’t serious, however. They fought for fun and for foreplay. This was apparently what it looked like when they were really, truly fighting. It hadn’t ever happened before and Bakura was lost.

There weren’t many numbers in Bakura’s phone. He probably should have called Ryou, but he would want to talk about how Bakura was feeling and Bakura was keeping himself as numb as possible right now. If he felt what he was on the verge of feeling, he was going to start screaming. Instead, he called someone he knew would leave him the fuck alone.

* * *

Kaiba picked him up ten minutes later. He’d come personally instead of sending a driver, surprisingly. Or maybe not so surprising since he and Kaiba had struck up something approximating a friendship since Bakura started working for him.

“Where am I taking you?” Kaiba asked after Bakura climbed into the passenger seat.

“A hotel, I guess. Don’t think I’m wanted at home right now.”

Kaiba snorted, as if the potential collapse of Bakura’s relationship was a triviality, and drove off from the crash site. “Because you got hit by a car? What, your boyfriend doesn’t like you if you’re not pretty?”

Kaiba tapped his forehead in the same place a scrape blemished Bakura’s face, one minor injury among many similar scrapes now dotting his skin. The police officer at the scene offered to call an ambulance for him to have him checked out. Bakura refused. He hurt all over, but he could walk and talk and that was good enough for him.

Malik made sure Bakura put on a riding jacket and helmet before leaving that morning. He’d be in a lot worse shape without them.

“If this,” Bakura flourished his fingers at the scar under his eye, “doesn’t bother him, I doubt that little thing will. It won’t even scar.” Bakura knew how deep a wound had to be to leave a mark.

Kaiba let it go, since he likely didn’t give much of a damn in the first place, and they arrived at the Kaiba estate after a short, silent drive.

“I said a hotel,” Bakura griped.

“Yes, bitch about staying at my multi-million dollar estate. That’s a smart move.”

Bakura didn’t have a real complaint about it. He was just in a very bitchy mood. He’d sent Malik a text saying he wouldn’t coming home for the night on the way here, and Malik didn’t bother texting back.

“Keep Mokuba amused while I work, and I’ll consider that paying me back,” Kaiba explained as they pulled into the garage. Bakura admired the collection of sporty cars after getting out. If he were still a thief, he thought he might go into car theft in the modern day. He couldn’t imagine more of a thrill than driving a flashy car like he stole it.

Bakura followed Kaiba into the mansion proper. He kept his mind busy by checking out Kaiba’s security system and running scenarios in his head on how to beat it. It didn’t keep him occupied for long. He had half a dozen plans for robbing Kaiba blind by the time they exited the foyer.

Mokuba was perched on a living room couch. The pause screen of a fighting game was displayed on the oversized television in front of him. He grinned at his brother and grinned wider when he spotted Bakura behind him.

“Bakura! Here to get your ass kicked again?” he asked, jerking his head towards the paused game.

Bakura picked up a pillow off a nearby chair and chucked at the little brat. Mokuba dodged and returned fire. Kaiba caught the pillow before Bakura had a chance to avoid it.

“How old are you?” he asked his brother admonishingly.

“As old as my tongue and a bit older than my teeth,” Mokuba returned.

Kaiba rolled his eyes. He left, presumably for his home office, and Bakura shoved Mokuba away from the middle of the couch to make room. The kid flopped onto the cushions and stretched his legs out defiantly, so Bakura sat on him and unpaused the game. He finished Mokuba’s fight for him and ignored his attempts to escape.

* * *

Malik felt cold, spending the night alone. Bakura was always warm and was always pressed tight to Malik’s body while they slept.

He hated the cold. The tomb was cold and Bakura was warm.

* * *

They went a few rounds in the game, then Mokuba scrounged up a sketchpad and demanded to see some of Bakura’s work. He sketched copies of a few of his works-in-progress and the kid cooed over his artistry.

Kaiba had him designing new Duel Monsters cards. There were plenty of _ka_ he’d seen in his childhood that were never stolen by the priesthood. Beautiful, powerful beasts. The souls of those that were murdered instead of locked away in gold. There was plenty of magic the Pharaoh and his ilk never got their hands on.

It pleased Bakura to have this way of remembering them. If history refused to remember the tragedy that befell them, then they would be immortalized by Bakura’s hand.

Mokuba eventually became too tired to keep his eyes open and left for his bedroom. Bakura knocked on Kaiba’s office door and, after being berated for interrupting him, was shown to a guest room he’d had a maid make up.

Bakura ran out of distractions, alone in the guest bedroom. He took a pillow and screamed into it.

He knew how much that damn bike meant to Malik. It was a childhood dream made real for him. It was one of the first things he bought because he wanted it and not because he needed it. It represented freedom to him. And freedom was the most valued thing he had.

Bakura tried his best for the past year to not make trouble for Malik and the life he was trying to live. And he’d done well so far. They both had careers and a good thing going with each other. They were _happy_ , something Bakura hadn’t been in three thousand years. But disaster always followed Bakura, nipping at the backs of his heels. The gods never favored him and now, perhaps, they were punishing him for escaping their divine judgement.

Or maybe he was just a fuck up.

He didn’t know what he’d do without Malik. He’d wanted to become a god and that’s exactly what he was to Bakura. The center of his universe. Without him, there was no balance, no meaning to anything. He was the one who made Bakura _feel_ after millennia of having his soul shredded into pieces.

Bakura loved Malik. So much that him not being here felt like missing the blood in his veins or the breath in his lungs.

He screamed until his throat begged him for mercy. One more pain to deal with. He hurt _everywhere_ and knew he was going to be one big bruise come morning.

He had to look at himself, make sure he wasn’t about to drop dead. He didn’t want to do that while there was still a chance Malik gave a damn about him. The bedroom had a full length mirror so Bakura stripped in front of him and inspected his wounds.

It wasn’t anything too bad. His torso had escaped unharmed. His legs were the worst of it. A particularly nasty scrape tore into his calf where his pants must have ridden up when he fell off the bike. The inside of his pant leg was crusty with blood.

He wasn’t about to bleed to death so he redressed in the loose shirt and pants Kaiba left for him. He crashed into bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.

He dreamt of being alone.

* * *

Bakura woke up sweaty. He’d kicked the sheets off himself at some point in the night. He was ready to track down the thermostat control and set it as close to Antarctic as it got. The heat didn’t usually bother him, so Kaiba must be scrawny under his dramatic wardrobe if he needed the temperature cranked so high.

He stumbled a little when he climbed out of bed. He’d been right in predicting the pain getting worse after the bruises settled in. He felt them down to his bones.

He checked his phone. No calls or texts from Malik. He did have a missed call from Ryou, though, and a text from him demanding a call back.

It was nearly noon and Ryou called hours ago. He didn’t usually sleep in. For years, sleep meant vulnerability so Bakura indulged as little as possible. He couldn’t kick the habit even when he slept under a roof instead of exposed to the elements. Bakura blamed the accident for his slow start to the day.

He took a shower first, and of course even Kaiba’s guest bathrooms were equipped with fancy showerheads on all sides. Blood and dirt flowed down the drain as Bakura watched dully. He should have cleaned up last night but he was finding it difficult to give a damn about anything; his own cleanliness or that of Kaiba’s bed. At least the hot spray soothed his pains.

The image of Malik came to him easily. Bakura was so familiar with the look and feel of Malik’s body he was tantalizingly close to seeing and feeling him, here and now. His hands would be smooth against Bakura’s scarred skin and his golden hair would be heavy with water, would frame his perfect face and lilac eyes. Bakura would feel the flex of his muscles under his hands, would know his strength when he pinned Bakura to the shower wall and-

Bakura was touching himself without thought or finesse. He didn’t have Malik’s patient, deliberate way of making love. He always begged to go hard and fast and Malik always ignored him because from the start, Malik understood what Bakura really wanted. To be touched like he was precious.

Bakura didn’t think he was precious anymore, so he jerked himself to completion and felt his soul drain out of him with his orgasm. He shut off the shower and felt the ache seep back in.

He laid naked on the bed and called Ryou. Someone brought him clothes while he’d been showering but Bakura didn’t have the will to dress and be functional.

“Bakura! Are you okay? Malik told me you’d been in an accident and you weren’t picking up your phone!” Ryou worriedly said the moment he answered.

“I’m fine, landlord. Nothing’s broken.” Except his heart, but fuck if he was going to say _that_ out loud.

“That’s good. Why aren’t you at home? I came by to see you and Malik said you weren’t there and didn’t know when you would be home. You aren’t at the hospital, are you?”

“No, I’m at Kaiba’s.”

“…Why?”

So Malik hadn’t told Ryou what happened? He hadn’t cursed Bakura’s name for wrecking his bike the first chance he got?

“I wrecked Malik’s bike and he didn’t want to see me.” Bakura choked a little at the end of his admission and he hoped Ryou didn’t hear it. He did, of course.

“Bakura, are you really okay? Not physically, I mean. Are you and Malik okay?”

“We…might not be.” Bakura’s voice went hoarse. Gods, they really might not be okay. Malik hadn’t even tried to contact Bakura. He was still shut out and Bakura didn’t know how to crawl back into Malik’s good graces.

“Oh, Bakura…” Ryou cooed gently. “I’m sure he’ll calm down and realize you didn’t do anything wrong. He’s just upset. The accident wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Fuck no. Some idiot made a wide turn and clipped the bike. It fell and went under another truck’s tires.”

“Oh God…You were lucky _you_ didn’t go under the truck’s tires. I’ll come by after work. I want to make sure you’re alright, so don’t argue,” Ryou preempted Bakura’s denials. Bakura rolled his eyes but acquiesced.

* * *

Ryou’s work schedule stretched further into the evening than he would have liked. He was antsy all day and his thoughts kept wandering to Bakura. He sounded awful on the phone. Rarely could he not laugh off his problems with a stupid joke. If he couldn’t manage that much, he had to be devastated by Malik’s anger at him.

Well, Ryou planned on making those two stubborn idiots have an adult conversation and fix things between them. They loved each other, and Ryou would be damned before he let them lose what they had together.

Ryou knew the way to Kaiba’s place well. Bakura dragged him and Malik along for company shindigs whenever Kaiba had them. They always hid in the corner, the three of them, and tried to guess who was having an affair and who was on cocaine.

Bakura was good at that game. He knew how to size up a mark with a glance and decide how easy they’d be to rob and how much money they had in their wallet.

Bakura must have told Kaiba to expect him, because the doorman let him in without a fuss. Mokuba greeted him and smiled apologetically.

“Seto is on a conference call and can’t see you, sorry about that. Bakura is in the room we put him up in.” Mokuba paused. “He hasn’t come out all day. He texted my brother to let him know you were coming.”

Ryou sighed. “How did he look? He said he was fine, but I don’t think I completely believe him.”

“He was limping a little,” Mokuba explained thoughtfully, “but we roughhoused a bit and it didn’t seem like I was hurting him.”

That was reassuring, but Bakura was frightfully good and hiding his pain, physical and otherwise.

“Can I see him now?”

“’Course!”

Mokuba led him up the master stairs and down a long hallway of doors. Kaiba put Bakura in a room at the end of the hallway, as Bakura liked so he could hear people coming. He opened the door for Ryou and let him inside first. The room was dark and Ryou could just make out a lump in the bedsheets.

It was worse than Ryou thought. Bakura didn’t sulk, he broke things when he was upset.

“Bakura?” Ryou approached carefully. He didn’t want to startle Bakura and put his guard up before they could even talk.

Bakura didn’t respond and that was enough for Ryou to hurry over to the lump in the bed. He pulled back the sheets. Bakura was asleep, and he did not sleep peacefully. He breathed heavily and sweat dripped down his forehead and bare chest. Ryou pressed a hand to his skin. As expected, he was burning up.

“We need to get him to a hospital,” Ryou said firmly.

“Oh, yeah…I’ll call right away!”

Mokuba didn’t waste time apologizing for letting Bakura’s health deteriorate to this point. He just made the call, and Ryou appreciated the efficiency.

He flicked on the bedside lamp and inspected Bakura’s naked form. He’d make sue Bakura was decent before the paramedics arrived, but for now his nudity was necessary. He was bruised, deeply enough so his dark complexion didn’t hide the discoloration. Small wounds ornamented his body, mostly nothing that alarmed Ryou, except for his legs. The skin of his calves was shredded and the wounds were oozing pus.

He hadn’t cleaned his wounds and his poor immune system couldn’t fight the inevitable infection. Now, he was fevered and sick and suffering. Ryou gently stroked Bakura’s heated cheek.

“Oh, Bakura, what have you done to yourself?”

* * *

Malik ignored the call from Ryou. He knew why he was calling. It was to try and help patch things between him and Bakura and Malik didn’t want to deal with that just yet.

His anger at learning his motorcycle was gone faded overnight. Spending the night alone put things in terrible perspective. It felt too much like the nights Malik spent pouring over spells for the dead, searching for a way to save Bakura from the shadows. And falling asleep in a cold and empty bed made his back hurt.

His loneliness far outweighed his anger. But his pride outweighed his loneliness.

He’d rejected Bakura, told him he didn’t want to see him, and had meant it in his fury. Then, the anger was gone and he was left with his stupid mistake. His loneliness was his own fault. He’d fucked up. And he couldn’t bring himself to admit that.

Ryou left a voicemail, then called a second time a few minutes after that. Malik ignored that call, too.

The next call was impossible to ignore. The number for the closest hospital was saved in Malik’s phone because of the early days of Bakura’s revival. His body was entirely unprepared for the modern versions of bacteria and viruses, far evolved from what his immune system could guard against. He had a dozen different allergies that laid him up for days upon exposure.

Malik had been terrified back then. That he’d lose Bakura all over again after getting him back from death’s clutches. Damn it, he loved Bakura so fucking much, what the fuck was wrong with him?

He answered the phone, dreading what he’d hear.

“Hello?”

“Is this Malik Ishtar? We have you listed as an emergency contact for a patient that just came in.”

* * *

Bakura’s hand was hot in Malik’s grasp. The drugs pumping through him kept him sedated and chased the pain away, yet the fever persisted. Ryou sat across from Malik, holding Bakura’s other hand with his own.

They’d scrubbed Bakura’s injuries with steel wool once he was unconscious and couldn’t feel it. It was horrible to watch. It was a relief when his pus-ridden wounds were hidden by bandages.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into Bakura’s palm. He caressed his own face with Bakura’s limp fingers, relearning his touch. The hours apart from him felt like needles sliding down Malik’s throat, the agony exacerbated by the knowledge that Bakura had suffered for all that time. None of this had to happen, Bakura should never have deteriorated this far.

Malik’s heart was shriveled in his chest. He’d made Bakura think he cared about his motorcycle more than he cared about Bakura. That couldn’t be further from the truth. There was nothing in heaven or earth he loved more than Bakura.

He hadn’t even asked if Bakura was okay when he’d called. It didn’t cross his mind to ask. Well, he had an answer to that question now.

Why had Malik let his pride get in the way of his feelings for Bakura? How could he have been so stupid? It was a fucking miracle he was here with Malik at all, and Malik hated himself for every second he spent not being grateful for it.

He’d made a devastating mistake. He’d failed as Bakura’s boyfriend.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“You should be,” Ryou replied sternly. Malik winced. Ryou usually smiled his way through life and was perfectly content letting people think he was soft. Malik’s relationship with Bakura brought the two of them together, and Malik quickly learned of the steel beneath the façade.

There was no softness in his voice now. He was furious and he wanted Malik to know it.

The doctor explained his condition to them. His immune system was so poor the infection ravaged him swiftly and cruelly. His legs received the worst of the damage but they’d caught the infection soon enough that he wouldn’t suffer long-term. He wouldn’t be walking for a time, however.

“He’s going to be furious, you know,” Ryou calmly said. “He feels like he needs to be quick on his feet. Old habits and all that. You’re going to take responsibility.”

It wasn’t a question nor a request. Ryou’s tone made it clear that Malik _would_ take responsibility and the consequences for not doing so would be dire.

“I’ll take care of him. I won’t…I won’t screw up again.”

“Good. Because he’s waking up.” Ryou let go of Bakura’s hand, stood, and gently kissed his forehead. Bakura twitched and groaned into wakefulness. His opal eyes blinked open and he about blearily.

“What…?”

“You’re in the hospital,” Ryou explained evenly. Waking up somewhere unfamiliar meant danger to Bakura, so Ryou soothed those worries immediately. “Your injuries from the crash got infected. You should know better than to not clean an open wound.”

Bakura avoided eye contact. Ryou’s hand fell away to gesture at Malik.

“I’ll leave you two alone.”

He left after kissing Bakura’s cheek. Bakura nuzzled into the contact and leaned in when Ryou pulled away. Ryou smiled sadly and glared at Malik warningly before departing.

“I…” Malik started.

“I’m sorry about your bike,” Bakura interrupted hastily, still looking at anything except Malik.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you. And I’m sorry I ignored you. I’m sorry I didn’t apologize when I realized I fucked up. I’m sorry…I’m sorry I’m no good at this.”

Malik stopped when Bakura’s hand shook away from Malik’s, scaring him for a moment, but then Bakura touched Malik’s face and stroked his cheekbone. He realized what he was doing and tried to pull away but Malik kept Bakura’s hand where it was.

“I missed looking at you,” Bakura confessed.

Malik liked Bakura when he was drugged and honest. He smiled and said, “I missed you, too. I hated sleeping without you.”

Malik ran his hands down Bakura’s arm, feeling the scars so familiar to him as he went. He noticed a long time ago how many of them were lash-marks. When he heard the stories behind them, he’d sworn he would be someone who never hurt Bakura like so many had. He’d broken that promise.

He leaned in for a kiss, and Bakura received it enthusiastically. His hand wandered to the back of his head and curled into his hair. Kissing Bakura came as naturally as breathing. Their lips moved in tandem as they tried to memorize the others’ taste.

Malik lingered when the kiss ended. He spoke and his felt his lips brush Bakura’s skin. “I can get a new motorcycle. I can’t get another you.”

“…You’re not breaking up with me?”

“No!” Malik said firmly. He kissed Bakura again to emphasize the point. No matter how angry he’d been, it never crossed his mind that he would end things with Bakura.

Bakura’s body sagged and Malik caught him and held him. The tension of the last twenty-four hours was gone and they were left alone with just each other. Malik’s favorite Bakura was the one that let himself be loved, and love him Malik did.

“…Can you tell Ryou things are good between us again? Because I think he wants to kill me.”

* * *

Bakura was confined to a wheelchair for a few days after his release from the hospital. He bitched about it, but Malik reminded him it was his own stupid fault for not taking care of himself. Bakura griped back that it was Malik’s stupid fault since he’d messed up Bakura’s head.

(He was scared about not being able to make a quick getaway. Malik reminded him he wasn’t alone anymore and didn’t need to run if he had someone to carry him.)

It was one bout of bickering back-and-forth among many. The words didn’t bring a chill with them.

Malik celebrated Bakura’s return home with schwarma packed with meat and seitan for himself. He considered it a great expression of love to willingly make the kitchen wreak of animal fat for his boyfriend.

He kissed Bakura when they were done eating. His lips were so temptingly warm.

**Author's Note:**

> My first go at Thiefshipping/Citronshipping! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
